The Girl and the Storyteller
by TsubameTrebleClef
Summary: Post-manga/Brotherhood. When Al returned to his hometown with his flesh-and-blood body atrophied but intact, he didn't try to hide the secrets of his past. Instead, he told stories. And there was one girl who loved to listen to them more than anyone else. AlxOC.


**A/N: Greetings, people! TsubameTrebleClef here! (I'm in a flamboyant mood, so please bear with me.) So. Let me just say that I never expected to write and upload an AlxOC fic – that is, until my DEAR friend gave me some VERY unanticipated inspiration: namely two fics titled **_**She Lives on Through Him**_** and **_**Fifteen Shots of Whiskey Later**_**, both having to do with the Elric brothers and alcohol. **

**I dedicate this story to Samsung Super Aladdin Boy II, without whose tendency to inspire (however unintended that may be) this piece of writing could not possibly have come into existence.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Fullmetal Alchemist**_**, and have not uploaded this story for monetary purposes.**

* * *

_**The Girl and the Storyteller**_

"I'm bored," says the girl.

"Are you?" says the boy.

"Yes. Very," says the girl.

The boy lapses into thoughtful silence. "Well, you did help me out last time, so I'm indebted to you," he says presently.

"Does that mean you'll entertain me?"

"Yes. I'm going to tell you a story."

* * *

And this story, born of mere tedium, was the beginning of many, many others.

* * *

_Amestris, 1916~_

The world was alive today. The sun's bright smile lit up the breathtaking landscape of Resembool, its happiness infecting everything bathed in its golden light. Clouds shifted as they made their trips across the brilliantly blue sky, looking like peacocks with cotton-white tail feathers one moment, then forming the shapes of playing children the next. Nearby trees parted their close-growing leaves and branches in an amiable fashion, as if beckoning the singing birds to nest in their thriving green haven.

Perhaps the world had always been alive, but today it was, if possible, more alive than it had ever been. It certainly seemed so to Raine, who had been virtually chained to her bed for the past week, due to a bad case of the flu. Or perhaps all the excitement of being well again had made her giddy. Just one glance at her wondrous hometown was all it took to confirm that every inconspicuous detail was present and in its rightful place, and that, in turn, was all it took for her feet to take off – down the garden path and onto the wide expanse of grassy land. Her fingers reached up to tug the ribbon out of her hair, and down tumbled the brown locks, wild and lively and bouncing as she ran.

She jumped up and whooped in glee, losing her balance in the process and tumbling to the ground. Over and over she rolled, smudging her white dress with dirt and moss. Blades of grass caught in her hair. Finally she stopped, breathless, and lay face down, drawing in the smell of the soil and the grass.

Raine loved the country. In the dingy apartment in Central City, where she had lived formerly, she had never been truly happy. She had only poignant memories associated with that place – memories of her family shouting and swearing, of stuffy rooms and cracked ceilings and flickering oil lamps, of grimy windows and filthy cobwebs and thick car fumes from outside.

"It's not like that here," she said aloud, rolling onto her back lest she suffocated. "Here there are only sheep and cattle to talk to, and they don't mind whatever I do. I can be as much of a juvenile delinquent as I want!"

She laughed at the sheer delight of such a thing. Then she stopped suddenly and sat up so quickly that she almost dislocated her neck. And she raised her head and sniffed at the air like an animal did before a storm . . . yes! The smell of baking!

There was only one place the smell could be wafting from. Raine closed her eyes momentarily and pictured luscious pastries with warm chocolate fillings and sticky apple strudels and huge spongy cakes topped with cream and sliced strawberries – until she could stand it no longer. Her stomach growled longingly and she gave in to the temptation – she leapt to her feet in a flash and hurtled down the lane.

The Elrics and the Rockbells lived just over the hill from Raine's cottage. Winry the automail mechanic vexed Raine to the point of madness whenever the two met, but Raine had to grudgingly admit that Winry was extraordinarily proficient at crafting exquisite automail parts, even though she had a nasty habit of throwing heavy wrenches at people – mostly Edward. Unfortunately, she was also a good cook, and more often than not Raine visited the house for the sole purpose of gorging herself on lemon tarts and blueberry muffins and iced doughnuts.

As Raine flew over the hill, her thoughts drifted and lingered on Alphonse. Alphonse, whom she hadn't seen or talked to in over a week. Alphonse, who had a voice like a lark's – a voice that could make her smile in a matter of seconds. Alphonse, who could make almost anything come to life with a canvas and a paintbrush. She smiled as she remembered the stories he often told – tales about his and Edward's travels to places far and wide.

Coming to a halt in front of the Rockbells' house, she bashed the front door three times with her fist and bent over to catch her breath. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair windswept.

Winry greeted her with simply, "I knew it'd be you," and didn't have the courtesy to hold the door open. Raine sulkily let herself in. She distinctly heard Winry mutter, "Sometimes I wish you'd lose a limb or two."

"Excuse me?" said Raine, frowning.

Winry whipped around promptly, halfway down the hallway. "No, I'm kidding," she said, giving Raine a sad smile. "I wouldn't subject my worst enemy to that. Unless . . . no, never mind."

"You're acting awfully suspicious today," said Raine, raising her eyebrows. "Shouldn't you be more ostentatious?"

"Well, if you want me to be, I will be! I'll cut off your limbs myself if you vex me enough!"

* * *

Raine found Edward and Alphonse in the small but homely living room, sitting opposite each other on the sagging sofa. Their heads were bent over the coffee table – they were apparently immersed in something, which Raine strongly suspected to be a book containing alchemical theories and complex scientific diagrams no one but those brothers understood. Typical.

This was precisely why Edward's words took her by surprise. "Will you hurry up, Al?" he asked in a querulous sort of way, like a child wanting money for a lollipop.

Raine frowned. _What's he whining about? Surely this isn't another brotherly quarrel._

"Have a little patience, Brother," muttered Alphonse. "I'm almost done." His words were slightly muffled, as though he was talking with his mouth full – which, doubtless, was something he would never do.

Edward made an impatient noise and threw up his hands. "But I'm hungry!"

Bam! Something clicked in Raine's baffled mind. How could she have forgotten? After all, what had she come for?

"There! All finished." Alphonse leaned back on the sofa and held up a sketchpad at arm's length, admiring his work. He had the lid of a fountain pen between his teeth, which at least explained his incoherent enunciation. As he moved, a single slice of apple pie on the coffee table was unveiled. How positively mouth-watering it looked! Before Raine could do as much as open her mouth to speak, Edward hands were reaching for it.

"Hey! That's mine!" Raine yelled, dashing across the room and lunging at the precious slice. With a swipe and a gobble it was gone, leaving Edward blinking at her in disbelief.

Sitting up, Alphonse noticed her for the first time since her arrival. "Oh, hello, Raine," he said good-naturedly, smiling at her. Then he turned to the empty plate and chuckled. "Goodness – you're only a year younger than me, but when you see food . . ." He shook his head, grinning.

"I can't help it! Besides, my mum always says kids need healthy appetites," said Raine in self-defence. She was glad to see Alphonse, but she didn't exactly want to be teased about her so-called 'food instincts'.

"And you always say that when you decide to show up and scab off us," observed Winry from the doorway.

Raine opened her mouth to pour forth a stream of obscenities, but was again interrupted – this time by Edward, who jumped to his feet as though he'd sat on a pinecone, and virtually bounded over the furniture in his haste to reach the door. "What a nice day it is, Winry!" he said, beaming most unnaturally. "Shall we go out and join Granny at the market? I'm starving, and this little rascal ate the last slice of pie." Without waiting for an answer, he pushed and shoved Winry down the hallway, stopping only to shoot a knowing grin at Raine and Alphonse. Then the door swung shut behind him with a ceremonial click, and silence ensued.

Raine could've sworn she'd seen Edward wink at her.

For some strange reason, and without any presentiment whatsoever, her thoughts spun rapidly and spiralled out of control, and she remembered . . .

* * *

Rain falls, and Raine watches. She doesn't know why it's raining so suddenly, in the middle of spring. Only this morning the sun was shining and the birds were singing and she was running and dancing with the sheep in the paddock. Now the sky is grey and miserable clouds are spilling their sorrows on rooftops and pastures and down hillsides.

Raine is miserable too. Although she was named after this natural phenomenon, the icy drops remind her of her life back in Central City. She sits under the valiant bridge, hugging her knees to her chest, watching the river rampage downhill in a right rage. Just why didn't she listen to her mother and bring an umbrella along?

There is a crash of wood against bricks above her. Someone cries out in pain. Raine instinctively sticks her head out of her shelter and gets a torrent of freezing water in the face. Gasping, she shakes her drenched hair out of her eyes and squints through the deluge. A hand appears over the side of the bridge, gripping the bricks so hard the knuckles turn white.

Raine scrambles to her feet and runs through the downpour. At the foot of the bridge she sees a boy sprawled on the ground at the highest point of the arch, struggling to get up with the aid of half a wooden crutch. The other half lies splintered a metre away from him. As she gets closer, she notices how skinny he is. He looks malnourished.

"Hey!" she shouts, crouching beside him. "Are you okay?"

He looks up through his dripping bangs and manages a smile. "I think so. Could you help me up, please? This is a bit embarrassing."

She puts an arm around him and pulls him to his feet. He still looks unsteady, so she walks with him across the bridge. Then another boy comes running, armed with an umbrella.

"Al!" he yells. "How much of an idiot are you? I told you not to go out alone!"

Before Raine can register what's happening, he detaches the younger boy from Raine's shoulders, mutters a quick "Thanks" and disappears into the rain.

Raine stands there for a moment, confused. Then she shouts, "Is that how you treat someone stranded without an umbrella? What's even going on?"

* * *

That had been a year ago. The scene replayed itself in Raine's mind as she stood in the Rockbells' living room, staring unwittingly at Alphonse, who was adding finishing touches to his sketch of the slice of apple pie. He looked so different from back then. Those hollow cheeks had filled out, and his skin had gained a sort of radiance that it had sorely lacked.

Clearly he was waiting for her to say something.

Raine felt her ears heat up, and quickly smoothed her hair over them. Casting around for a possible topic of discussion, she suddenly noticed the cork of a beer bottle under the coffee table. _A cork? Ah . . . yes, definitely something for us to do._ Now, Raine was a rather headstrong person, and it was at this moment that she remembered a challenge she had yet to attempt for the second time. "Al," she said innocently, "when was the last time you got drunk?"

Alphonse directed his attention to her and smiled sweetly. "A month ago, if I'm not mistaken."

"So you haven't been drunk since we argued over that cat?" said Raine, her face falling. Last month Alphonse had found a stray kitten on the street, which Raine had just about fallen in love with at first sight. But Alphonse had wanted to ask around for an owner first – prompting Raine to propose a challenge: whoever drank the most alcohol could have their say. Little had she known that Alphonse needed fifteen shots of whiskey to get well and truly drunk. And needless to say, Raine had lost epically.

"No, not unless Brother drugged me and poured a gallon of vodka down my throat," said Alphonse. "Why?"

"Just wanted to know." Raine leaned down and picked up the cork on the floor. Twiddling it between her fingers, she said, "Maybe we should do that again. You know, drink until we start hyperventilating."

Alphonse laughed. "I think you were the only one hyperventilating. But if you want to, I have no objections."

Indeed, Alphonse had been quite his usual self that day, despite his alarmingly heavy consumption of alcohol. Raine, on the other hand – well, it is not necessary to elaborate.

So it began. Alphonse removed the strongest beer in the house from the pantry, along with two wine glasses, and returned to the living room. Raine wrinkled up her nose. Wine glasses? Only stuck-up middle-aged couples used wine glasses – at least in her eyes. She snatched up the glasses and announced, "We don't need these!"

She uncorked a bottle and tipped its contents down her throat in one go. The beer burned as it went down, making her choke and gag. Her eyes ran so much that the tears obscured her vision. Vaguely she heard Alphonse say exasperatedly, "Take it easy, Raine."

"No!" And she wouldn't have, even if it was a direct order from the Führer; the sensation was far too wondrous and peculiar for her to 'take it easy'. The beer came alive inside her, and she felt like a pot of boiling soup, trying to control the bubbling, frothing substance attacking her organs.

Sighing, Alphonse picked up a bottle and emptied it with an air of resignation.

Five minutes flew past, then ten, then fifteen; before the hour was up both of them were slumped on the sofa, surrounded by empty bottles. Raine rummaged around and pulled out one that was half-full, which had no doubt been overlooked. As a result of her impaired coordination, it slipped from her fingers and the beer spilled all over the coffee table. It spread with remarkable speed, and would've dyed Alphonse's sketchpad a nice shade of brown had he failed to grab it in the nick of time.

"Oh my gosh! I'm – I'm – I'm – sorry!" gasped Raine, having quite lost her ability to speak properly.

Alphonse shoved his sketchpad onto the shelf, out of harm's way. "Don't worry about it," he said airily, though his speech was slightly slurred. "It wasn't anything important."

Raine began to giggle madly for no apparent reason. Then her eyes grew wide. So wide, in fact, that the clouded orbs shone like crystal balls with secrets embedded deep within them. But unlike those of crystal balls, these secrets were not about the future – on the contrary, they pertained to the past. "Ah – Al," she said, "I – uh – I want to . . . can – can you tell me one of your – one of your stories again?"

"Stories? Ah, yes." Alphonse smiled tenderly. "What sort of story would you like? Hmm . . . Ah, forgive me, Raine, but I'm in the mood for one that's not exactly full of buttercups and rainbows and – well, you get the gist. And given what happened the last time I told one of those . . . not to mention that you were as drunk as you are now . . ."

"Well, it – it – uh – doesn't really matter."

Raine flushed as the memories of that day came flooding back.

* * *

Alphonse's voice is low as he finishes the tale. "The boy squinted through the fog, and there lay his older brother, covered in blood, panting as he clutched his right shoulder, where his arm had once been. And the boy looked down and saw that his brother's left leg ended in a bloody stump just above the knee. All he wanted to do was scream."

Raine's jaw started dropping midway through the story, centimetre by centimetre – and now her mouth is as wide as it can possibly get without her jaw detaching itself from her head altogether. She feels numb – as though someone has given her a small dose of anaesthetic. Not enough to knock her out, but enough to make her nerves seemingly disappear. Even her brain feels frozen, but that may be due to all the alcohol in her bloodstream.

Then she cries. Like a baby seeing the world for the first time, she bawls and wails, loudly enough to rouse the whole town and raise suspicions of domestic violence.

"Raine –" Alphonse begins, looking rather startled.

But Raine springs out of her seat and scampers from the room, nearly crashing into the coffee table and knocking the beer bottles asunder. Then she makes for the front door. When she's outside, she takes liberal gulps of fresh air and runs and runs and runs, zigzagging off course now and then as a consequence of tears and too much alcohol. But it doesn't matter. Crying – at a time like this – is utterly unforgivable. How could she do such a thing?

Without a doubt, she would be better off if she hadn't drunk so much beer – at least she would have a stronger hold on her emotions.

* * *

Alphonse was looking at Raine, and his eyes were full of concern. "Are you sure?"

"Yes – I – I –suppose so." It didn't sound very convincing, and Raine was not too sure she herself was convinced in the first place, but Alphonse proceeded nonetheless.

"Do you remember when I told you about the Promised Day? I didn't have a chance to finish."

"That was . . . that was . . ." Raine squinted, "when a little – uh – thing – in a flask . . . when he went on a – a – rampage?"

"Precisely. Now, where did I get up to?"

"You – the boy – was protecting . . . that princess girl."

"Ah." Alphonse closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. Then he opened them again. The expression in them had changed, darkened in a single moment, as though shutters had been drawn over the good-humoured, carefree side of him. Then he began. "As I told you, there was an explosion at Central Headquarters. At the last moment the boy threw himself in front of the princess to shield her. Half his armour was destroyed, and the rest broke apart and collapsed. Everyone threw themselves into the fight: the boy's brother, the prince and his bodyguard, the soldiers – everyone. The so-called Father of the Homunculi had unbelievable defences – it was a sort of alchemical shield that could deflect every attack they hurled at him.

"There were flashes of light and bombs exploding and the sound of gunshots, and at one point the boy's brother ran up from behind Father and threw a punch at him with his automail arm – but of course he only hit the shield and his arm was ripped apart. It happened so fast that to watch it was dizzying. One moment the shield was flashing and everything was frozen in time, and the next bits of metal were flying everywhere.

Raine listened in awe. Even in her drunken state, she could not cease to be amazed at Alphonse's remarkable gift of storytelling.

"The older brother kicked Father," Alphonse continued, "who blocked it with his hand. It took everyone by surprise. He was actually losing it! This horrible black substance started flowing out of him. The boy felt nauseous – he wanted to turn away and puke, but that was impossible for a suit of armour. The overflowing power of the God inside Father literally blew everyone away. It slammed the older brother into a slab of rock, and his arm was . . . impaled on a huge twisted nail.

"Father went after him. He wanted energy to replenish his Philosopher's Stone. By then everyone was covered in blood and Central Headquarters was a smouldering ruin, and the boy was scared – no, terrified – that if he didn't do something, it would be the end. So he thought, 'If Brother sacrificed his arm in exchange for my soul, then the reverse should be possible.' He knew very well what that meant. It meant he would be imprisoned in the Portal of Truth, and if something went wrong and his brother wasn't able to retrieve him, he would be trapped in there . . . forever. Until he died. But he also knew that if he did nothing but watch, Father would suck his brother's soul straight out of _his _body. The boy couldn't imagine living without his brother – especially now that it was in his power to prevent such a thing from happening. So he asked the princess to create a path that led to the place where his brother was, with her alkahestry. She refused. He grovelled. So she did it, the boy told his brother to win, and he swapped his soul for his brother's arm.

Here he paused and lowered his eyelids. "But the look on his face, and the way he screamed at the boy to stop . . . it sort of made him regret what he was doing, even while doing it. Just a little bit."

When Alphonse stopped talking, Raine became aware of how silent the room was. Even the birds outside had abandoned their merry choir. Only the clock mounted on the wall ticked consistently. "Oh, Al," she whispered. "I . . . I didn't know." Then she realised her cheeks were wet. It was like an explosion somewhere inside her; or perhaps her liver had annihilated itself in a gallant attempt to break down the copious amounts of alcohol in her system. But that was beside the point. She was . . . crying . . . crying! Again! When this fact finally sank in, more tears spilled out of her eyes like rocks over the edge of a cliff – uncontrollable, unstoppable, propelled by the infallible force of gravity.

"Why am I crying again?" she exploded, standing up and causing most of the empty bottles to tumble to the floor. "It's – such – an – inappropriate – time – to – cry!" The more agitated she became, the harder she cried – and the harder she cried, the more agitated she became. She began to whack herself over the head in fury.

"Raine," said Alphonse, quite shocked at her outburst, "don't do that, please! Crying isn't –"

Something else seemed to explode inside her. _Are those my kidneys? _she thought numbly. Hardly knowing what she was doing, she picked up the coffee table – at least, she saw her hands reach for it and lift it – with great difficulty and flung it at Alphonse, who dived out of the way. It slammed into the sofa, knocking it over. There was a great crash as the enormous pile of beer bottles was rent apart. The individual bottles were seen to come alive – some shattered, showering glass over the furniture; some were flung into the air; others fell and rolled across the floor in every direction.

Raine stood and stared uncomprehendingly at the mess before her. What had just happened? Why was she here again? Her head felt inflated, and she had a sudden urge to sink to the ground and fall asleep. Her surroundings swam about her as Alphonse took her by the arm, led her to the armchair in front of the fireplace and pushed her into it.

The last things she remembered before she was pulled into oblivion were the rhythmic stroking of her hair and, strangely, a comment about how charmingly long and curly her eyelashes were.

* * *

Before Raine opened her eyes, she dreamed that she was a house, and that a dozen or so builders were mercilessly pounding nails into her head. When she did open her eyes, she discovered that the pain was real. She was not a house, but a girl, and no one was attacking her with nails – she was merely experiencing symptoms of a hangover.

She groaned and shifted slightly in the armchair. Yes, it was the same armchair, in the same room . . . but the room looked unnaturally tidy. Had it always been this way? She squinted as she prodded the recent memories in her pounding head . . . there was something about a coffee table and a sketchpad . . .

Unable to recall anything coherent, she gave up. Miraculously, as soon as she stopped trying to think, a soft, musical sound filled her ears and she turned, confused, looking for its source.

Of course. Alphonse. He stood by the window, gazing out at the fields which rays of gentle sunlight were caressing with their gentle touch. He was singing quietly. It was a simple melody, perhaps a lullaby passed down from his mother, but it was this very quality that made it so calming and pure. Was it Raine's delirium, or were the birds beginning to harmonise with him? She listened, not daring to move or make a single sound, as the chirps and twitters intermingled, creating a breathtaking, almost unearthly choral masterpiece.

Alphonse turned then, and the spell was broken. "Oh, you're awake. Are you all right? It's morning – you've slept through the whole day. And Brother and Winry and Granny still haven't come back."

Raine had many things she was sure would come tumbling out of her mouth the second she opened it, but all that did was, "I need to pee." She stumbled to the bathroom and soon found that she needed to throw up as well as pee. The beer looked very nasty and uninviting as it went down the drain, but Raine had in the past puked pink and green and blue substances, so that wasn't half as bad.

On returning from the bathroom, her stomach and bladder felt greatly relieved, but her head felt no different. It was still pounding, still jumbled, and still had a great deal of questions left unanswered.

"You're not so bad at withstanding alcohol, Raine," said Alphonse, smiling benignly at her. "But even so, I don't," he glanced at the coffee table, "think you should try that again any time soon."

Dread rose in Raine's stomach like acid reflux, which she imagined would feel more or less the same as vomiting half-digested beer. "What did I actually do? I . . . don't really remember."

"Well," said Alphonse reluctantly, "not much, really . . ." He had evidently been thinking that she remembered the events of the previous day.

"I know when you lie, Al!"

"Well . . ."

"I did something with the coffee table, didn't I?" Raine screwed up her forehead. "I threw it – did I throw it at you?" Her eyes widened in horror.

"Er . . ."

"I _did_? I actually – oh, Al, I'm so sorry – I'm really sorry – I don't know why I even –"

"No, it's all right. I cleaned everything up with alchemy."

"But it was . . . it was debauchery!" said Raine wildly.

"No, really. If you wind yourself up, you might end up throwing it at me again." He gave her a playful pat on the head. "We don't want that, do we?"

Raine flushed and fell silent. Minutes ticked past. Drops of rain pattered against the window – small drops at first, but they soon got bigger and more frenetic and drummed loudly and heavily on all the exposed surfaces of the house.

"Rain," said Alphonse softly, sitting down on the sofa. "Do you remember that day, when it was raining just like this, and –"

"Yes, but if I think about that right now I'm going to wind myself up," Raine cut across him hurriedly. She was probably still delirious, but she now felt as though her intestines would be the next to explode. And that, indubitably, would not be pretty. For a while she imagined them splattering onto the floor in segments, but doing so made her feel nauseous, so she stopped.

Alphonse was looking at her thoughtfully. She couldn't help but stare into those gold eyes and wonder what was going on behind them. Presently he said, "Can I ask you something, Raine? What is it that you have against crying?"

Raine blinked in surprise, for a moment forgetting all about intestines. What _did_ she have against crying? "Well, I . . . it's just that . . ." She tried to bring all her disarrayed thoughts together, discarding the ones which concerned her organs. Then it occurred to her, so easily she could have laughed at herself. "I have no right to cry. At least, not when you tell me those stories."

"Why not?"

"I wasn't there. While you were all fighting and getting hurt, I was holed up wherever I was, going about my daily business. It's not fair for me to cry when I didn't experience any of what you did. I'm stupid, and useless, and I get sentimental too easily."

"That's not true – well, maybe the last one." Alphonse observed her again, a pensive look on his face. "Is that what you really think?" He raised his head towards the ceiling, staring at nothing in particular. "Look at it this way – when I was still in that suit of armour, no doubt many people thought I was crazy to want my body back. Maybe I am crazy, so whether I'm right or wrong is up to you to decide. But this is how I see it: it isn't really about your rights. It might be true that Brother and I should be the ones to cry, but sometimes we find it a bit difficult – Brother especially. As for me, it's easier, but sometimes everything stays locked up inside, no matter what I do. That's why I'm thankful that there are people willing to cry for me. That they genuinely care – because it's always harder to deal with things alone.

"At school, the teachers said that people who have been to war or had traumatizing experiences tend to modify their accounts to make them less gruesome or intense. But I think that although it takes more courage to tell the wholesome truth, it makes you feel a lot better afterwards. I don't know, maybe I really am crazy, but I'm just glad you're always there to listen to me. So thank you, Raine."

Raine clamped her hands over her mouth and blinked hard. Her treacherous lacrimal fluids were threatening to make a reappearance. Despite what Alphonse had just said, she didn't want to cry at the moment – not right now. Another emotion was building up inside her. "So you want me to be like Winry?"

"Like Winry?" Alphonse seemed genuinely taken aback. "What do you mean?" Then recognition dawned on his face. "Ah – you can't be jealous, Raine."

Much to her dismay, Raine felt her face heat up. _Stop it, stop it! You've humiliated yourself too much already!_

Alphonse, being his usual shrewd self, seemed to know spontaneously that she needed reassurance. Fixing her with a gaze that was both gentle and confident, he said, "Winry likes Brother. He likes her, too. There's no doubting that."

"But Winry was acting weird when I got here."

Alphonse smiled. "Maybe she's trying to accept the fact that you might officially become part of the family soon." As he said this, a slight tinge of pink appeared on his face.

* * *

It was later revealed that Edward, too, had worked himself into a spot of bother. Though it was unclear exactly why, he had gotten most spectacularly drunk at an old friend's house near the market. And he was still spectacularly hungover as he staggered through the front door with Winry and Pinako.

"You're hopeless, Ed," Pinako was saying. "When I was your age, I drank three times as much as you did yesterday, and I wasn't downright three sheets to the wind."

"If you're so pathetic, you shouldn't go around challenging people to drink," said Winry. "Idiot."

They entered the living room, the two women virtually dragging a defeated Edward along behind them. Edward raised his head and glanced at Alphonse and Raine, who had privately agreed to keep the earlier incident to themselves. They were now sitting on the sofa, wearing expressions of utter relaxation. Raine's headache had not diminished much, but she smothered the symptoms as much as she could.

"Well, Al?" Edward asked nonchalantly. "Did anything happen while we were gone?"

It was Raine who answered. "My liver and kidneys exploded. My intestines were on the verge of exploding. Other than that, nothing important."

"What? What's that supposed to mean?"

Alphonse and Raine looked at each other, and then said in unison, "Never mind."

* * *

Edward and Winry were rather befuddled when they walked past the living room the next day and were confronted with the sight of Alphonse and Raine chortling uncontrollably and slapping the coffee table as though it was a drum.

". . . and then the older brother said, 'But look! It says right here that the rights were transferred _free of charge_!'" said Alphonse, laughing so much he could hardly speak fluently. "Oh, Raine, you should have seen the look on the lieutenant's face when it dawned on him!"

Edward, realising what Alphonse was talking about, rushed into the room to contribute details to the story. Winry rolled her eyes and went to help Pinako with the baking.

* * *

Another year passed. Edward grew taller, Alphonse grew sturdier, Winry grew more womanly but was nonetheless still unbearably irritating to Raine, and Raine – well, she did become more placid in nature, to a certain extent, but she was probably still capable of throwing a coffee table at her nearest and dearest if they offered her liquor and provoked her while she was drunk: something they fortunately didn't do, Alphonse having learnt his lesson and the others preoccupied with more important and practical matters. Edward and Alphonse announced that they would be travelling again, albeit separately, in order to help people who had been hurt by alchemy. Winry and Raine quite understood the brothers' intentions, but Raine could not resist pulling Alphonse aside as his train whistled into the station.

It was another beautiful spring day, just like the day when the world had 'come alive', in Raine's eyes. Today was much the same, but the bright blue sky did not simply serve to house the sluggish, indulgent clouds that moved across it – it stretched and stretched, boundless and omnipresent, forming a canopy over Amestris and the countries that bordered it: the Great Desert and Xing to the east, where Alphonse was going, and Creta to the west, where the elder Elric was headed. "The world is big," it seemed to say. "Come and explore it with me." The steam that gushed from the train gave the impression that the train itself had run a marathon around the entire Earth, and was now puffing and wheezing with mingled exhaustion and elation. The odd commuter walked in and out of the steam in a busy fashion, buying tickets from the little booth beside the rails and sitting down on the lopsided wooden benches, smiling as though there could be no greater happiness than waiting for a train in the boondocks, surrounded by untrimmed grass and noisy livestock.

So on this day, when everything was so impatient to be on the move, Raine was, remarkably, at a loss for words. Things were changing, and she was afraid that they would never be the same again. One day Alphonse might come back engaged to a pretty Xingese girl, perhaps that princess Mei, one day Pinako might have great-grandchildren, one day Winry might get tired of baking apple pies – there was no telling what time might bring. The train whistled again, warningly, ushering passengers aboard, and Raine, struck suddenly by some odd impulse, grabbed Alphonse's hands and held them tightly in her own.

"You'll be back?" she asked, a little bashfully.

"Of course I will." The frolicsome wind brought with it different, distinctive smells – fragrances that were unique to Resembool, and Resembool only. This seemed to ascertain Alphonse's words, and strengthen the promise that they held. "And when I am, I'll have a fresh arsenal of stories. An exotic collection from the East."

Raine smiled. "And I'll cry when the situation calls for it."

She was, in fact, on the verge of tears at this moment, and perhaps Alphonse knew it – before their hands were in danger of being joined forever together by some mysterious force that was not alchemy, he gently prised his fingers from hers and left her with a smile that said what a million words of consolation could not.

And Raine waved and waved like a windmill gone haywire until her arm was ready to drop off. Alphonse would keep his promise. That was the kind of person he was.

Raine had always loved Alphonse's stories. But now that she knew listening to them could do so much for him, she loved them all the better.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**

**If anyone's wondering, I'm not completely against AlMei, but I can't say I ship Al with anyone other than Raine. Mei, in my opinion, is one of the more unrealistic characters in FMA (don't get me wrong, I think she's adorable), so they don't match that well – although that doesn't really account for after she grows up.**

**Reviews would be very much appreciated, but of course, it's your choice whether you decide to drop one in or not. ;)**

**TsubameTrebleClef**


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